


If living is painless, what’s left for death?

by TheDarkLordChaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aka CIPA (inability to feel pain + inability to sweat), Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannibalism, Canonical Child Abuse, Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Starvation, Suicidal Ideation, Trauma, heatstroke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkLordChaos/pseuds/TheDarkLordChaos
Summary: Harry has never known physical pain. At times he has thought he might, his life bleak and terrible at the Dursley’s. For a long time he didn’t even understand what he was missing, until he asked Hermione; things could only go up from there, couldn’t they?A story of pain, lack thereof, and living despite all of it.
Relationships: Harry Potter & George Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	If living is painless, what’s left for death?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me.

There hadn’t been a day that Harry lived where he had ever known physical pain. The days that Harry couldn’t remember were filled with Petunia’s disdain, he knew, as that was how it had always been. He had always been a  _ problem child _ , refusing food, chewing holes through his own tongue until it was seen by chance when he smiled, (and always the damage would be miraculously gone the next day). When Harry had been too emaciated to ignore any longer, the Dursleys had finally caved and brought him to the hospital where he was given a feeding tube. When he was old enough it was removed, and he was firmly reminded to eat during mealtimes. Despite how sickly Harry was, he never felt ill.

When Harry was old enough to understand, he would listen to the Dursleys whisper about how he never cried, even the time his hands came to rest on the hot stove; Petunia had shrieked and pulled him away, shoving his hands under the faucet, and Harry, 5, only stared, never making a sound. He earned second degree burns from the experience, his hands blistered and red. An injury that should have healed in weeks instead healed in months. No one understood why it was taking so long until Petunia caught Harry avidly peeling at the raw skin. He tugged on it without a care, pulling it off like it was the skin of an orange, eyes alight with simple childish curiosity, and it was a memory Petunia would wince at even years later.  _ What a stupid boy,  _ they would whisper. Harry didn’t understand why; he heard words like  _ hurt,  _ and  _ pain _ often, and he was never told what they were.

He fainted often. In the sun, in the house, alone, or with others, Harry fainted, never knowing why. 

“It’s the heat.” Petunia would say, her voice stiff.

“But what is heat?” Harry would always ask.

“Don’t ask questions!”

Harry thought this rule was unfair. He wouldn’t need to ask so many questions if he didn’t have so many, and he wouldn’t have so many if they answered them.  _ Don’t bother us with it, boy.  _ Vernon had said. Sometimes the fainting happened with the Dursleys in the room, and Harry would wake up alone. One summer, Harry was sitting on the lawn made to watch Dudley play when his consciousness had suddenly given out; Petunia had rushed them both inside, Harry’s dead weight in her arms, lips pursed as she watched for prying eyes. That had been the disturbing day that Petunia realized that Harry did not sweat. When he woke, not a complaint left his lips. Petunia refused to ever touch him again, and Harry thought he heard whispers of  _ unnatural,  _ and  _ magic. _

Harry did have magic, and the first time anyone explained to him what pain was, was in his second year.

“Tom said that I was going to die.” Said Harry to Hermione; she just seemed like the right person to go to.

“Oh, Harry.”

“In the rush of the moment it was terrifying, but now I’m just confused. He made it sound like it was supposed to be bad, bad meaning supposed to  _ hurt _ a lot, the basilisk venom.”

Her face scrunched. “It’s supposed to be horrible, excruciating, a burning sensation.”

Harry nodded. “This is going to sound stupid, at least that’s what most people seem to think when I ask them, but I really have been wondering for years.” Harry hesitated.

“It’s alright, Harry. What is it?”

“What is pain?” He asked.

She didn’t look like she understood how to respond. “Is that a philosophical question?”

“No, I mean literally, what is pain? What does it mean to hurt physically, to be hurting?”

“Erm, do you know what it feels like when you’re angry, or sad?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but in your body, uhm. An example: getting stabbed in the back is the physical equivalent of being betrayed by someone you trust.”

“I’ve never been betrayed before.” Said Harry, he hadn’t had people he trusted around long enough for them to betray him.

“Oh well, then being punched is the physical equivalent of being insulted by someone with ill intent.”

Harry thought of the days where he’d hoped to be loved, was instead verbally abused, and nodded. That was something he could understand, so he smiled. “Thanks Hermione.”

“Harry… why are you asking what pain feels like?”

“I’ve never felt it before. I used to refuse food because I never got hungry, and I fainted a lot before I figured out what heat was with contextual evidence. At first I thought that I might feel physical pain even though the evidence suggested otherwise, since I can still experience emotional pain, but then I realized everyone else wasn’t talking about emotions, at least not in any context that made sense.”

Rather than look alarmed, Hermione’s expression turned curious. “I think I might have heard about something like this before. It’s supposed to be really rare! Let me write home and see if I can get a book or more information on it.”

Hermione got her information the following week.

“I don’t understand how you survived.” She said.

“Thanks.” He said, his tone dry.

“Oh stop it, I’m serious. You mentioned that you used to faint a lot? Overheating is one of the most common ways for people with CIPA to die. Did you ever have seizures from high temperatures? Or fevers? Since you don’t sweat you just keep absorbing heat. Is that why you never want me to hug you?”

He considered the spitting insults the Dursleys had thrown when Harry had so much as indicated he may want affection, and nodded. “Partially, yes. And I never had any seizures that I know of, and it’s hard to say with fevers since I can’t tell when I’m hot.” He paused. “I suspect that magic may have been helping me stay alive. I apparated once when I was younger, on accident, it was to the top of a building, and I was so shocked I fell off. I stopped falling just before I hit the ground, and I’ve had other noticeable incidents like that. Also, CIPA?”

“ Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis, it’s what most call the disease.”

“Congenital? Anhidrosis?”

“Congenital is just a disease that’s been present since birth, and Anhidrosis is a word for a condition where sweat glands produce little or no sweat.”

Harry sat in silence for a moment to absorb this revelation.

After a minute Hermione spoke. “I agree with you, that it was probably your magic.”

That was another reason for Harry to love magic, then.

The war was over, and Harry hated magic, just a bit; more than ever, Harry wanted to live just for living. Voldemort was gone, and Harry was tired of the wizarding world, and as it turned out, so was George. The loss of Fred stood like a phantom in mirrors and George’s own shadow, and this was one of the few pains Harry could say he understood. They made plans to travel together, and on impulse, they ended up somewhere cold and snowy.

“We should have left our wands.” Said George. “Full immersion.”

“Bullshit, we’d both have a panic attack within the first minute without them.” Harry teased, and he prodded George lightly with his arm. “Besides, it’s dangerous out here. It’s good to have magic in an emergency.” 

“True, though I think we’ve both had enough emergencies to last multiple lifetimes. Gotta catch a break at some point don’t we?”

“You know emergencies don’t listen to the needs and wants of people don’t you?” Harry grinned at him, joking, but somehow felt that despite George’s statement, they couldn’t be that lucky; Harry was right.

When the avalanche came, it snapped Harry’s wand and George’s arm. They managed to disapparate, but George, already in pain, only got them away at the cost of his good arm, and his wand with it. Harry hadn’t thought that he would see a splinch worse than Ron’s, at least not anytime soon, but the apparation had ripped the arm clean off, and it wasn’t for the first time that Harry wished he could share his lack of pain. They were lucky enough to still have their bags, and with shaky hands Harry put dittany on George’s arm until it looked healed enough for them to move.

Harry took off one of his shirts from under his coat and used it as a makeshift sling for George’s other arm. “One more emergency for one more lifetime, eh?” He finished tying the shirt. “Now your arms match your ears.” 

There was a long silence.

“Too soon?” Asked Harry.

Still George remained silent until a few minutes later, and he was shivering. “What are we going to do, Harry?” Asked George, his voice wan, and his expression sad.

“We’re going to find shelter, and we aren’t going to wait around for death to catch up to us. I already did that, and I’m not ready to do it again.”

“I’m useless. I don’t have either of my arms. I can’t even carry my own bag.”

“I have both my arms and I can carry them both. Two bags for two people, George, you’re coming with me. The pleasure of your company is never useless.”

“No one knows where exactly we are; we both lost our wands. We only have so much food, and this place is barren. What are we supposed to do?”

Harry pulled George up. “Regroup, adapt, survive.”

“Regroup where?”

Harry looked around, his own heart beating faster and desperate, and amazingly enough, he saw what he sought and pointed. “There, shelter. Come on.”

The fact that they could use snow as a water source was only a small comfort when their food steadily dwindled into nothing.

“We need to move.” Harry insisted. “We only have a couple days left of food.”

“There’s nothing around here in either direction for miles. We have a better chance of being found if we stay put.” Said George, and he was too pale for Harry’s comfort.

“I’m not sure we can rely on being found. We have to move. If we don’t move, we’ll die.” Said Harry.

“If we move we’ll also die.”

“Maybe not! At least then we might find food.”

“We might not freeze to death here, where we can make a fire.” Said George.

“We have to try something different than what we’re doing now. We know what will happen if we stay here. We should leave now while we have food left to fuel us through.”

They left the next day, and Harry knew that George felt the cold in sharp pins and needles, knew that it was so cold it felt hot, and by the second mile he had stripped off two of his remaining four layers, giving them to George.

“I can’t feel it.” Said Harry.

George was furious. “That doesn’t make you immune. You’ll freeze to death Harry.”

“I can endure it longer, and I sap up body heat, if we manage to find somewhere to crash we can be cuddle buddies.”

George took a short breath. “And if we don’t?”

Harry shook his head. “One step at a time.”

They didn’t find any shelter, and when they slept they huddled as close as they could be without being one person.

“Fred would have found this ironically hilarious.” George muttered.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“We always said we’d die the same way, at the same time, and when people found us they wouldn’t be able to tell us apart, the last laugh. It’s in our will that we be buried together, you know? We were so certain we’d always be together, even dying, even in death. Now look at us, one dead, one dying, and I’m stuck with a speccy git that has a penchant for fainting.”

It was meant to sound teasing, but it fell feebly between them.

Harry hugged him tighter. “We’ll be okay.”

George shook his head, but the arms around Harry tightened in return.

They ran out of food five days later, after having rationed their supply as far as it could go. A month slowly passed by, and that was when they finally stumbled across another cave.

“Let’s not leave this one.” Said George.

“Yeah, alright.” Said Harry.

They didn’t leave, and neither did the hunger.

“I won’t feel it.” Said Harry.

It was a testament to how hungry George was that he didn’t immediately argue. “You’ll still be hurt though.”

“I can’t even feel hungry, George. It’s better we just do it now before you’re ready to murder. I’d rather we die on good terms.”

George shook his head. “You already skipped days eating when we had food left.”

“And I’m fine, see?”

“That was so convincing.”

“It was. Now you’re going to eat. Don’t argue!” Harry said. “I’m agreeing to this, alright? It’s consent. It’s like safe sex, but with cannibalism.” He took a pocket knife from his bag.

George’s breathing shuddered. “Harry, please.”

Neither of them knew what he was really pleading for.

“It’ll be fast.” Said Harry.

George had never looked so conflicted over anything. “What if I just don’t want to eat a bloody fucking Harry today?” He said, voice loud and anxious.

“Well there’s tomorrow.”

“Is there?” Said George quietly.

“ _ Yes.”  _ Harry replied, tone solid as diamond.

“What if we just… waited?”

“For what?” Asked Harry.

“The end.”

“ _ No George _ . I told you. I’ve done that already. I’m never doing it again, and I’m not going to let you do it either.”

There was a pained silence.

“I feel like we should wait to do this until it’s absolutely necessary.” Said George.

“You look like you could keel over at any second. I think we should do this now.”

“So do you.” Said George.

“I’ll be fine.” Said Harry.

“ _ Really.” _

“Really.” Said Harry, and then he sliced the knife over his arm. The skin resisted the blade for an apprehensive moment, and then it was cutting through the meat, carving away the chosen flesh to reveal a raw wound, blood flowing from it like spilled paint.

George cried out. “Harry, for fuck’s sake put dittany on it now! Before you die of blood loss.” His own hand clenched in the sling hopelessly.

“It’s alright.” Said Harry, and he put the dittany onto the wound.

It healed the gash awkwardly, not meant for something so deep, and George worried his lip.

“We can’t do this again.” Said George.

“We might have to.”

“No.” Said George. “No, we aren’t doing this again. I’m splitting that with you.” George nodded at the piece of Harry’s own flesh. “And we aren’t doing that again.”

“I can do it though. I’m good for this. I can help us both. This is the only time I’ve ever wanted to not feel the pain.” Said Harry. “Let me do this”

George looked taken aback. “Why would you  _ want _ to feel the pain?”.

“If you don’t feel pain, how do you know you’re alive?” Asked Harry.

“Don’t you feel emotional pain?”

“It’s different. It doesn’t feel tangible sometimes. How do I know I’m not just making everything up in my head? It’s like being dead in a world full of the living; there’s a disconnect, like looking into a cracked mirror. It seems like physical pain would be so much more… real.”

“I don’t know how you’d know.” George said, after a moment’s pause. “But I’m still not going to let you keep hurting yourself. You don’t get to sacrifice yourself, not this time, not while I’m here. You can’t do that living you’re so determined to do if you’re cut into pieces.”

Harry frowned. “I’ll be okay.”

“No.” George said, and his answer was firm.

“Fine.” Said Harry.

They took turns biting into the chunk of flesh, starting off hesitant and anxious, and when they grew ravenous they took turns pretending they weren’t watching their friend feast upon human meat.

When Hermiome found them a week later, huddled as close as they could be without being the same person, she thought they were dead, and for a moment Fred’s laughter rang in her head as she stared at the head of his twin, and then Harry moved.

“Harry!” She yelled, and she waved at the St. Mungos healers frantically from where they were still running from the portkey drop off. “ _ They’re alive.  _ Wait, Harry, is George….?”

Hoarse but coherent, Harry said. “He’s alive. Very tired.”

They regained their strength at St. Mungos. Ollivander was called in  _ for the famous Harry Potter,  _ and Harry and George didn’t release their new wands at all during their whole stay; Hermione shook her head worriedly. ( _ There’s going to be a lot of separation anxiety isn’t there?)  _ It was also during this stay, that Harry felt physical pain for the first time.

“You have a cure for CIPA?”

“What?” The healer looked bewildered

Hastily, Harry shook his head. “It’s just what the muggles call it.”

“Yes Mr. Potter, we have a cure. You should never have gone so long without one. Just let me heal your arm completely and I’ll give you the cure.”

“No, wait. Don’t heal it yet.” Harry glanced at George, who occupied the bed nearest him, and then Hermione, who stood in the room with them, Ron at her side. “I want to feel it.”

George, Ron and Hermione frowned in one with the same disapproval.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to feel pain with how trouble finds you.” Said Ron.

“But I have an opportunity now.”

“Only you would see this as an opportunity Harry.” He exchanged looks with Hermione and George; the three of them looked resigned.

“Come on guys, I want to know what it’s like. I’ll be just fine.”

They all sighed, but nodded, and the healer spluttered. “Mr. Potter, that is inadvisable.”

“Please?” Said Harry, but it was less of a question and more of a statement.

With a look of resignation to rival all three of Harry’s friends, the healer nodded. “Very well.”

Harry took the cure eagerly, and without hesitation. The pain was overwhelming, a lot of sensation, and so terribly strange, though Harry doubted it was actually so horrible when you’d lived life dealing with pain as a part of it. Still, it brought a surge of tears to his eyes, but he was smiling. “It hurts.” He said, like he was testing the words, and his smile stretched his cheeks. “It hurts.”

For this, Harry loved magic, just a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)


End file.
